“I’ll take that if you don’t like it.”
Gwen handed her the belt, and then returned in silence to her own heap. Katy’s questions always pertained to Nathan—how did he feel, what did he want, would he “stand by” her—closed-minded Katy had instantly reverted to the language of another century. Gwen had had to explain that pregnancy happened to two people, it was not for a woman to be “stood by” or otherwise, and that she and Nathan were in total accord. This last may have been a slight exaggeration for he had so far resisted her attempts to bring him round to the idea of fatherhood, even in the abstract. The last few times they’d talked he’d grown panicked, twice had cried, and each time, to comfort and convince him, she assumed a depth of conviction she did not feel. But unlike the parents he never seemed angry, nor did he seem to blame her. Something had befallen them both, and he said he believed she was trying to make the best of it, even if his best and hers were not (yet?) in concert. He was still her boyfriend. Relations between them improved when she realized that all he wanted was to discuss it as little as possible; if she adhered to that stipulation, everything continued between them, if not exactly, then almost as before. That morning she had taken time away from her own work to bake raspberry and white chocolate muffins that might fuel his; he had eaten three and lifted her heart by declaring them (and herself, she inferred, by proxy) “awesome, thanks.” When he was home he no longer chided her nor even seemed to notice if she played with her phone or doodled blog designs on the corners of her notes and this, conversely, encouraged her to focus in order to win back his notice. At first his disengagement had unsteadied her but she knew him, and knew how it would be. He would be incredible, once it became necessary for him to be incredible. The male instinct was to deal with what lay immediately ahead; he had exams and university decisions and these were all-consuming. Nine months of pregnancy would take them to Christmas; it was now only May. Katy had sworn secrecy and support and undying friendship, but today she was filled with irrelevant, childish questions, and Gwen had begun to wish she had not told her.
“It is actually ages, isn’t it? I guess you found out majorly early.” Katy was twirling a glossy lock of dark hair round and round the end of her nose, thinking. Then she ventured, “Aren’t you scared? You must be, a bit.”
“I’m really not. I’m just excited to meet my baby.”
An opportunity offered, and rejected. Katy recognized the lie, for behind her eyes Gwen saw a willing empathy shut down; instead, disappointment that she, long-trusted, wasn’t to be trusted now. Katy would have said, “I know,” she would have stroked Gwen’s hair and said again, stoutly, You’ll be wonderful, you’re doing the right thing. It’s natural to have wobbles, it doesn’t mean you’re making the wrong choice. No one else would offer this reassurance. But how could Gwen confess that she struggled to focus upon what would inevitably follow this pregnancy? It was there in her peripheral vision, but when she turned her head it slipped away like a phantom and her mind would skip elsewhere, distracted, relieved. Far easier to daydream about how her classmates might react upon finding out, about how she might look by late summer, a neat, startling bump, a badge of distinction; a commanding unequivocal sign of adult womanhood. It was the pregnancy for which she had fought. What must come next—a baby, motherhood—was hazier, and harder to comprehend. Ludicrous, even. But to admit fear was to admit doubt, and if she admitted her doubts aloud, she knew, her outward conviction might crumble.
Katy held up a polka-dotted handkerchief, a peace offering. “This is megacute; maybe you could put this on the baby’s head, like a bandana. It’s all just so crazy. You have to tell me everything. I want to know every single thing.”
“Then stop talking so seriously about everything,” said Gwen crossly. But then she relented and said, “Obviously I’ll tell you everything. But you’ll see, so you’ll know it all anyway.”
“I told you I’ll come every day on my way home, I’ll be, like, the fun auntie. And I want to come with you when you have scans, and help you buy things and get ready and everything.”
“I feel sick again, I’m sitting down. You can hold stuff up and show me.” Gwen sank heavily into the armchair, on top of an untouched pile of coats. It helped to imagine a future with Katy always there, involved. With her friend by her side it would be far less frightening to do whatever needed doing.
They worked on, exclaiming intermittently about gems found and horrors unearthed. At the back of a wardrobe Gwen spotted a small, scratched leather suitcase and she humped this onto the duvet. Katy was holding up a pair of white silk trousers when Iris herself appeared and took these from her reverentially. She wore a misty-eyed expression, as if an old lover’s photograph had slipped from the pages of a battered paperback.
“I bought those on holiday in Nice one summer. I’ll keep them, I might wear those again. Ah, I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each, though they’re not flannel, thank God, they’re Pierre Cardin. Where on earth did you find that case? You’ve no reason to concern yourself with that,” she snapped, laying down the trousers, but Gwen, who considered her grandmother’s presence to be sufficient permission, had already clicked open the thick brass buckle. The lid of the suitcase flopped back to reveal its torn and faded paisley-print lining, and six neat stacks of pressed and folded baby clothes.
“Granny!” Gwen breathed. “Were those Dad’s? Oh, please can I have them?”
“Absolutely not,” said Iris, firmly, but was met by imploring looks from both girls, and a quivering lower lip from her granddaughter.